Bound
by DJLiopleurodon
Summary: In which Loki makes use of more than Clint's military expertise, Clint almost makes good on Loki's threat and Natasha goes for a run.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Bound

Author: DJ Liopleurodon

Warnings: Mature themes, graphic language, mind control and non-con

Characters / Pairings: Hawkeye/Clint B. & Black Widow/Natasha R & Hawkeye/Clint B. & Loki

Rating: M

Genre / Category: Angst/Romance

Published: 6/28/12 revised and reposted 9-29-12

Disclaimer: I think its stupid that we have to say it at this point, but I claim no-ownership-of-these-characters-Hail-Marvel.

Summary: Loki makes use of more than Clint's military expertise, Clint almost makes good on Loki's threat and Natasha goes for a run.

Special thanks to my awesome betas - first version: C0mdLicAt3p

9/29 revision: Ivory Winter, The Scratch Man and NowAskYourself-WhatWouldLokiDo

"I need a distraction...and an eyeball," I said, snapping my bow open.

"Excellent. Excellent," Loki beamed. "You have arranged all this in so little time. I surmise you have a scheme for this as well?" he said, gesturing grandly at the activity all around us. Sparks and the sharp smell of overheating electronics filled the dank air of the abandoned bunker.

As my body began to explain my efficient plan to the demented god, I watched through a blue haze. Imprisoned within my mind mute and paralyzed, my muscles and joints ached with fatigue. I was left enraged and helpless to stop my physical body and my lips from betraying me.

The plan I described bore my distinctive signature; precision. However, this was far more ruthlessness, far more like one of Natasha's clever, deadly assaults than one of mine. I generally opted for subtly as an opening gambit.,

Half-way through my recounting he beckoned for me to walk with him, his arm companionably across my shoulders. I allowed him to lead me to a secluded corridor. In such close proximity to Loki, the skin-crawling outrage nearly choked me.

We stopped as I concluded the next part of plan: Loki allowing SHIELD and Stark and whoever else Fury had scrambled to take him into custody. Which, if latest intel proved true, would put this powerful psychopath on board the Helicarrier with almost everyone in the world who mattered to me. Natasha, my partner and lover, trapped in the flying fortress as Loki and the strike team of mercenaries and criminals I assembled brought it down.

I refused to think about how _I_ would execute most of it - my body, my skill, my intelligence and training, but not me. I had exhausted myself at first, testing the boundaries of his control. While powerful, it was not absolute at first. His will compelled me to execute his commands; but I could interpret them literally. When he ordered me to "drop" Director Fury, I understood the implicit - 'kill him'. At such close range, I would never miss a head shot, but instead, I put a bullet in the densest part of Fury's flack vest to ensure that he would lay stunned long enough for us to leave, but not long enough for the collapsing ceiling to bury him.

After that act of defiance, Loki's grip tightened like a collar around my throat. As we from raced through the collapsing tunnel, I wondered if sparing Director Fury was the last conscious act of my life.

Loki's touch recalled my attention as hereached out and took the bow from my hand. I relinquished it to him without hesitation. He closed it and set it aside. I swallowed back a rise of bile as I realized by his appraising eyes that my bow wasn't all he would be touching.

His smirk spread into a grin, full of malevolence and teeth. His red tongue stroked his lower lip as he stepped closer, considering me with those cold eyes. "Now, now, Agent Barton," he purred, his unusual diction more even cloying, "I am your king now. You shall have no reserves from me. Your exemplary work must be rewarded." He placed his hand on my chest and pushed me back against the cold tiled wall. He moved his leather armor aside.

I punched him in the goddamn face. I kicked at his groin and I sought the knife concealed at my back. My bow was in my hand as I snapped it open, the limbs lashing out and sending him reeling. I swept his feet out from under him, garroting him with the bow string as he fell, its high draw weight hardly yielding against his throat. I saw a hundred ways to best him. Yet, my body remained wholly unmoving; muscles straining against themselves.

He seemed to hear my silent roar of "Don't fucking touch me!" His smile grew wider as he considered how best to punish me even as I stood pliant and still. His unsettlingly slim hands drew away from his armor and settled on either side of my neck.

"Kiss me. Kiss me like you kiss that flame haired wench I see plastered everywhere in your brain...What is her name again?" he taunted. "What is it you call her?"

He knew damn well what I called her.

"Tasha," I croaked.

"Yes. Tasha," he repeated mockingly. "Pretend I'm your Tasha."

His lips against mine brought a fresh wave of nausea, cramping my stomach. I hadn't eaten since the day before yesterday when the Dark Energy Research Facility caved into the desert. Maybe starvation would weaken my ability to resist his control? Considering my capacity to do so was pretty fucking feeble already, I wondered why he risked me - the man he relied on to lead his forces - collapsing from inanition. My SHIELD and military training had taught me to go for days without food or sleep, but still I ached.

Loki invaded my mouth with his tongue. My mouth responded as he commanded, but I held back what I could. This wasn't how I kissed Natasha. Lips, tongue and jaw might move in a similar fashion, but Loki could only command actions and the outward appearance of emotions. I moved mechanically, giving him none of the worshipful attention I showed her.

He caressed the back of my neck and I didn't bother to repress the mental shudder that I knew my body wouldn't show. His face loomed before me, electric blue flames arcing in the periphery of my vision.

"Kneel, Agent Bar...Clint, kneel before me and accept your reward."

Review are always appreciated.

Seriously. I'm begging here.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Bound

Author: DJ Liopleurodon

Warnings: Mature themes, graphic language, mind control and non-con

Characters / Pairings: Hawkeye/Clint B. & Black Widow/Natasha R & Hawkeye/Clint B. & Loki

Rating: M

Genre / Category: Angst/Romance

Published: 6/28/12 revised and reposted 9-29-12

Disclaimer: I think its stupid that we have to say it at this point, but I claim no-ownership-of-these-characters-Hail-Marvel.

Summary: Loki makes use of more than Clint's military expertise, Clint almost makes good on Loki's threat and Natasha goes for a run.

Special thanks to my awesome betas leapylion3 and to Ringo1 for the incredible and encouraging reviews!

9/29 revision: Ivory Winter, The Scratch Man and NowAskYourself-WhatWouldLokiDo

"Clint, kneel before me and accept you reward."

He freed himself, semi-erect, from his armor. My knees struck the cold floor. Utterly drained, I didn't, and couldn't, fight him. I knew it was futile, and I wanted to reserve what I could for a fight that I could hope to win.

He cupped my face and placed his thumb beneath my eye. "What would you be with just one eye?" He increased the pressure. My eyes were everything to my craft. I would sooner lose my life than my sight. "I could put out your eye. Just. Like. That."

I felt him push into my mind, compelling me to say submissively, "Whatever you wish, sir - my king. I am yours to command, yours to do with as you please."

Loki laughed, drawing his thumb away to stroke my face.

"Have you ever had a man in your mouth before?" He arched an eyebrow as he worked himself lightly with his hand. His display of control over me had increased his arousal.

"No."

"No, what?" he said coldly.

"Sir. No, sir," I lowered my eyes respectfully, my cheeks burning with shame. Loki stroked the reddened skin, my beard stubble scratching against his fingers.

He lowered his voice seductively, disgustingly, "Do you enjoy this when your Tasha does it to you?"

Another jolt of rage coursed through me. Instead, I heard my voice rasp, "Yes, sir."

"Do what she does," he whispered.

He placed a hand on my shoulder and pulled me to him. He loomed over me. I exhaled and I opened my mouth to admit him. A shudder ran through him and he buttressed himself on the wall over my head. Saliva pooled sickeningly in my mouth as my body fought the urge to retch.

I began to move as he thrust into my mouth, my lips and tongue caressing him while every fiber of my remaining self screamed to bite him. I purred deep in the back of my throat the way Tasha did. Loki groaned, sinuously rolling his hips. He braced one hand against the wall, and the other on the back of my head, grinding into me.

I imagined what Tasha would do to me if I wound my fist in her hair and directed her like this. That thought briefly pulled me out of the present horror. While Loki held me in thrall physically as much as ever, I could feel his distraction. I retreated into myself. Reminiscences of Natasha filled my mind. I imagined holding her in my arms or our sparing matches, ending with one of us pinned beneath the other on the mat, or on several memorable occasions, up against the wall. I thought of the last night Tasha and I spent together before I left for the desert research facility. Coulson had discreetly arranged for her to have several days of leave coinciding with mine. I wondered if Fury knew, or cared.

Loki's frenetic pace increased, yanking my attention back. He jerked my head forward, forcing me to swallow as much of his cock as possible when he came. I fell back on my heels struggling not to throw up. My body fought back a few dry heaves. Detachedly, I marveled that on this one score, my mind and body were in complete accord.

"My, my, Agent Barton," he purred. '_Oh, so, I'm only Clint when your dick is in my mouth,'_' the thought unbidden and irrational. "You have earned a respite." His head dropped back, his exhale loud and contented. One long fingered hand massaged my neck and scalp, the other braced above me. "You must sleep before our mission to acquire the iridium."

_Not acquire_, I snarled in the confines of my head, _steal. Murder, terrorize and steal._ Somewhere in Germany, guards were preparing for work days from which they would never return. True, they accepted that risk as part of their profession, but I wasn't a risk. I was a certainty.

Despicably, the thought of my own lethality allowed me to compose my shaken sense of self.

oki rearranged himself and pushed away from the white tiled wall, "Now, tell me everything you know about this team of Fury's. Then, you should get something to eat. I believe it has been a number of hours since you've had a meal."

'_Hours? Try days, motherfucker_.' I thought '_Am I going to have to blow you every time I need to eat or sleep?'_

His dazzling grin sickened me_._

Loki, gesturing hospitably, pulled me to my feet and ushered me out of the corridor.

'_I am going to fucking kill you_,' I thought as I blankly followed him.

Review are always appreciated.

Seriously. I'm begging here.


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Bound

Author: DJ Liopleurodon

Warnings: Mature themes, graphic language, mind control and non-consensual and explicit sex

Characters / Pairings: Clint/Loki & Clint/Natasha

Rating: M

Genre / Category: Angst/Romance

Word Count: 1039

Chapter: 3

Disclaimer: I think its stupid that we have to say it at this point, but I claim no-ownership-of-these-characters-Hail-Marvel."

Summary: Under his control, Clint is compelled to serve Loki. He resists in vain, clinging to memories of his Natasha. But when Loki develops a special hatred for Natasha, will she be able to affect Clint's "cognitive recalibration" before Loki destroys them both . My take on what you didn't see in the movie.

Special thanks to my awesome beta leapylion3 and to Ringo1 for the incredible and encouraging reviews!

==========================oO Hawkeye Oo==========================

_Early last year_

The Black Widow faced me in the small gymnasium to the left of SHIELD's specialty ranged weapons arena; the sniper's private training facility. SHIELD had only a handful of us unique marksmen, more than half of whom were deployed at any given time. I received orders myself this evening - report to a remote location in the Nevada desert - a flight at 0700 hours. It had something to do with Phil Coulson and Director Fury's pet project. I hadn't been read in on it yet; some secret initiative. I didn't particularly care - if they called me to the desert, to the desert I went.

Natasha had just returned from a lengthy undercover mission with self-styled superhero Tony Stark. I didn't conceal my jealousy over that; Stark had quite the reputation as a lady's man. Natasha and I had never discussed exclusivity. We never discussed or defined what we were doing at all. Mostly, that suited us both just fine, but the idea of her so close to the handsome billionaire irked me.

Snipers tended to be early risers so our exclusive gym was deserted at 0100. Natasha ensured that it stayed that way - she quickly hacked the security feed to loop the last hour of video of the uninhabited gym and the doors to admit no one. She smiled seductively over her shoulder at me once she finished and my heart, and other things, had quickened a pace.

"Ready?" she said, squaring her feet on her on the mats in her customary sparring stance.

"Hmm," I contemplated how painful and awkward it would be to spar semi-erect. "Maybe we should stretch first."

Thirty-five minutes of intense training left us sweaty and exhilarated. Natasha, in defiance of SHIELD regulations, had stripped off her shirt and now stood in black yoga pants that hugged her ass and swirled at her ankles and a crimson sports bra. Everything before - and hopefully after - defied regulation; why should this be any different?

I was glad I had insisted on stretching; my superior reach, size and strength mattered little if I couldn't catch her. I could draw, nock and loose arrows at lightening speed, but, damn, she was fast! Her speed gave her a distinct advantage in sparring, where one had to pull punches. Sure, in a real fight, I could break bones - that tended to slow down most people. Sparring with Tasha required me to get creative; to rely on improvisation and my ability to know not where my target was, but where it was going. It was one of the things I loved about her.

We each scored four points - a take down or successful pin lasting more that fifteen seconds. "Game point," I said, jerking my neck side to side with a satisfying amount of cracking. She pursed her lips and looked away. She hated it when I did that. I smirked at her until she returned my gaze.

"I'm going to give you something to fantasize about when you are in that глухой desert," she said, resuming her stance.

The match did not last long, culminating with Natasha's back against the wall. Literally.

I knew she let me win, but pressing her into the wall, her body yielding against me, I decided I didn't care. I pinned her wrists against the bricks, circling my thumbs against her palms. I thrust my thigh between her legs, grinding our hips together. She arched against me as I claimed her mouth.

She gasped as my teeth grazed along her jawline and to her ear. She swiveled hips against my thigh, seeming momentarily overloaded. Her head fell forward to on my cheek.

"Let me touch you," she whispered, resisting my hold on her wrists. "I want to get my hands on you."

Wordlessly, I shook my head and transferred my grip so I braced both her hands over her head in my much larger one. She bit her lower lip and nodded approval of the arrangement. Never had she yielded so willingly. It felt like an extraordinary gift to have this beautiful, powerful woman relinquishing herself so totally to my care. She could, and had on many occasions, take control of a sexual encounter blissfully. Natasha rarely allowed herself the indulgence of such trust. She closed her eyes and basked in my adoration.

I cupped her face for another intense kiss. Her tongue assailed mine, fighting for control in a way her body was not. My hand delved into her waistband. With the first brush of my calloused finger against her clit, she stilled with sharp intake of breath.

"Oh, God, Clint. Now, God, please, Clint, " she indicated vaguely towards the mats. "Now, mmm, Clint," She knew it turned me on like crazy to hear her rasp my name like that.

"Patience, Spider," I commanded breathlessly. "God, you're so wet." I slipped my fingers into her one after another and worked her clit with my thumb. "You... are...amazing," I breathed. "You're so fucking hot. Love having you like this...So hot. So sexy. So ... mine."

She came with a quiet cry. I released her hands and she sagged against me, her arms clasped behind my neck. Her legs around my waist, I carried her to the nearest mat.

Unhooking her sports bra, I ghosted my fingers down her abs and back up her sides. I encircled her breast in one hand while removing my pants with the other. Her hands stopped digging into my shoulders and worked likewise at her own garments. I took her other breast in my mouth and she arched and gasped some more. I flicked my eyes up to meet hers and again found myself overcome by the vulnerability she was showing me.

"Tasha," I said, "I love how much you're..." I trailed off, not sure what to say. I began tracing her collar bone with my teeth.

"Trusting you?" she finished. "You are ... the only one ... I can be with like ... this. God, Clint, I want you inside me. Please Clint." She writhed beneath me, drawing her hand through her hair, her eyes still closed.

I couldn't refuse her plea.

глухой - god-forsaken


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Bound

Author: DJ Liopleurodon

Warnings: Mature themes, graphic language, mind control and non-consensual and explicit sex

Characters / Pairings: Clint/Loki & Clint/Natasha

Rating: M

Genre / Category: Angst/Romance

Word Count: 1469

Chapter: 4

Disclaimer: I think its stupid that we have to say it at this point, but I claim no-ownership-of-these-characters-Hail-Marvel."

Disclaimer: I lifted Joss Whedon's incredible dialogue from the scene between Loki and Black Widow and wrote around it. Absolutely all the dialogue from the detention cell scene is directly from the film. (I wish I could claim an eidetic memory, but, no, I just have a smart phone and an early matinee where I could be sure I wasn't bothering anyone.)

Summary: Under his control, Clint is compelled to serve Loki. He resists in vain, clinging to memories of his Natasha. But when Loki develops a special hatred for Natasha, will she be able to affect Clint's "cognitive recalibration" before Loki destroys them both . My take on what you didn't see in the movie.

Special thanks to my awesome beta**leapylion3** and to **Ringo1** for the incredible and encouraging reviews!

=====================oO Black Widow Oo======================

Ever since Coulson's call had interrupted my warehouse interrogation, my focus divided between two missions. The first, the same as always: save the world. The second: save Hawkeye. I'd never admit it, but if I had to choose, I'm pretty sure I'd pick the latter. The world would constantly need saving and there were others just as capable; I needed Clint.

Chilled by the brutal efficiency of the Clint's strike on the Stuttgart facility and the frightening ease with which we apprehended Loki, I struggled to maintain my facade of detachment. After watching Loki's urbane reaction to Director Fury, I imagined the havoc this cold creature could wreak. His cultured speech and effete mannerisms were that of a truly vicious psychopath. He reminded me of Vladimir, one of the most unspeakable men in the Red Room. I shuddered at the memory of my worst tormentor, with his empty eyes and cruel hands. I couldn't leave Clint to Loki's mercy for a second longer than necessary. I wouldn't.

Here, my missions converged; we needed to understand Loki's objective in coming on board the Helicarrier to save the world and to save Clint. By this point, I agreed with the director; Loki wanted to be here. I didn't fully understand his capabilities, and Thor was less than forthcoming about them. I suspected he hoped to disrupt us somehow and escape. Or, more accurately, be rescued.

And there was no human more capable of executing such an extraction than Hawkeye.

Well, maybe me.

Our tech team disabled every one of his access codes, but Clint wouldn't need retinal scans or passwords. In our pillow talks, we would strategize how we would conduct an assault on various SHIElD assets and the Helicarrier was our favorite target. We had ten different ways to breech its defenses and assume command of it and twenty ways to crash it. Several of our schemes relied heavily on my skills, but there were several that were Hawkeye's alone. We told no one about our intellectual exercise. We discretely indicated holes in security that could be amended; if Fury knew we spent our evenings compiling lists of how to bring down SHIELD targets, termination of our employment is the best we could hope for.

In fact, the iridium theft was a modified version of a plan I myself had developed for acquiring critical schematics and blue prints. At the time, even hard-boiled Clint balked at the notion of tearing out a living eye ball for the sole purpose of opening a door. In some of our games, we starred as ourselves with our specific knowledge and abilities. In others, we began with no classified data and had to "acquire" it. Clint said the games reminded him of the role playing dice games he used to play with his older brother. I said we were probably the only couple that role-played in the bedroom, post-coitus. I felt warm at that memory, laying comfortable and relaxed, hearing the smile in his voice as he quizzically said, "Post-coitus? What made you think we were finished?" as he drew me against him.

Clint and a strike team were coming for Loki, I was sure of it . The bridge was on high alert; I could provide them with no actionable data. I could only undermine my own credibility. I knew Maria Hill recommended that Fury bench me, questioning my objectivity with regards to Clint (I'm pretty sure she knew about us, or was, at least, envious of the attention he paid me). I needed to talk to Loki before Hill got her way. If I couldn't get any information about how to save Clint or Loki's schemes, I'd talk to Fury and take my chances with Hill.

I went to the detention level, passing through numerous security points. I approached the circular cell. Loki paced with his back to me.

"There's not many people who can sneak up on me," he said. His voice dripping with false compliment. His eyes roamed my body, again calling Vlad to mind. I crossed my arms uncomfortably over my chest.

"But you figured I'd come," I surmised, darkly. I didn't know if his abilities included precognition, telepathy or merely deductive reasoning. Or if the cell blocked any of his powers.

"After," he said, "After whatever tortures Fury can concoct, you would appear as a friend, as a balm, and I would cooperate." His mouth curved into a rictus smile of false affability.

_Deductive reasoning then_. I swallowed thickly. "I want to know what you've done to Agent Barton."

"I'd say I've expanded his mind,"

"Once you've won, once you're king of the mountain, what happens to his mind?" The thought of Clint Barton's sharp mind gone forever frightened me more than it in the service of this otherworldly terrorist.

"Is this love, Agent Romanov?"

"Love is for children. I owe him a debt."

"Tell me," he spread his hands in a gesture of expectation. He backed toward the bench at the rear wall.

For a few moments, I found myself sharing true details of my life to him, allowing him to draw the words out of me. I never allowed myself to be put in such a position of compromise. Unbidden, a memory of an incredible night with Clint surfaced. Loki's knowing smile and the look of new malice in his icy features, shocked me back to the present. Clint. I was here to save Clint.

I drew myself up and bit back some words as he pressed for more; if he could truly read my mind, this wouldn't work. But, i didn't think he could do so without his staff and through the thick polymer walls of the cell. It felt more like he could forcibly influence. "It's really not that complicated. I got red in my ledger. I'd like to wipe it out." It sounded cliche, but Loki seemed to enjoy banalities in his high flown speech.

"Can you? Can you wipe out that much red? Drakov's Daughter? São Paolo? The hospital fire?" With his quiet intensity, he seemed to think he was still crawling under my skin, not knowing how completely I had shut him out. "Barton told me everything," he goaded. "Your ledger is dripping, it's gushing red. And you think saving a man no more virtuous than yourself will change anything?" The room swirled with his chilling power. Suddenly, I felt as if he stood behind me, all around me. I pushed the irrational thought away as he continued to rage.

"This is the basest sentimentality. Pathetic!" He struck the glass, now flecked with spittle. I forced shock and horror into my widening eyes. He glared down at me, imposing and smug with satisfaction as he unleashed his threat.

"I won't touch Barton, not until I make him kill you. Slowly. Intimately. In every way he knows you fear. And he'll wake just long enough to see his good work, and when he screams, I'll split his skull!"

A truly horrifying series of images flashed in my mind. I think they were of my own design; I think I had managed to evict his influence. I turned away to compose myself, pretending to hug myself and sob quietly. "You're a monster," I whispered.

"No, no," he scoffed. I heard him smack his lips to clear the spit that had formed there. "You brought the monster."

_Oh my God_. I thought of the way he had pushed his will into me, the way he made me feel surrounded with his malevolence. How far did it extend? Could he influence Bruce or influence others to spur Bruce into a rage? I had blocked his mind tricks; Bruce could too if he knew to do it.

I faced Loki once more, letting him see my clear-eyed calm and exuding confidence. "So, Banner?" I cocked an eyebrow. "That's your play?"

"What?" The trickster's brows knitted in confusion, realization dawning.

I turned and strode to the door, placing my hand to my ear to activate my com. "Loki means to unleash the Hulk," I warned my team, "Keep Banner in the lab. I'm on my way!" I turned back to Loki, "Thank you… for your cooperation."

I could feel Loki's eyes boring into me as I ran from the detention area. I wondered what atrocities I had just brought upon myself and Clint.


	5. Chapter 5

Title: Bound

Author: DJ Liopleurodon

Warnings: Mature themes, graphic language, mind control and non-con

Characters / Pairings: Hawkeye/Clint B. & Black Widow/Natasha R & Hawkeye/Clint B. & Loki

Rating: M

Genre / Category: Angst/Romance

Published: 6/28/12 revised and reposted 9-30-12

Disclaimer: I think its stupid that we have to say it at this point, but I claim no-ownership-of-these-characters-Hail-Marvel.

Summary: Loki makes use of more than Clint's military expertise, Clint almost makes good on Loki's threat and Natasha goes for a run.

Special thanks to my awesome betas leapylion3 & MovieExpert1978 and to Ringo1 for the incredible and encouraging reviews!

**Black Widow**

I have come close to dying countless times, but after my encounter with Loki, running for my life through the hangar deck with the Hulk on my heels and the frightening foundering of the Helicarrier, I could not stop shaking. I hurt all over. The unspent adrenaline racing in my veins caused tremors over my whole body. I didn't want anyone to see me falling apart, and I would be less than useless in my current state. I curled up on a catwalk near the hanger and gave in to it for a few minutes, letting the chemicals burn from my system.

Somewhere on the ship, Clint was killing our friends and comrades and they were trying to kill him. Would he fight Loki's control by allowing himself to be killed? I knew if he could, he would. If he could not break the spell, whatever part of Clint remained, would take any action he could to free himself, even into death.

I drew a deep, shuddering breath and considered that he might be lost to me forever and I must accept that. Now, one mission remained: save the world. Doing so meant first saving the carrier. I could hear over the com-link Stark and Captain Rodgers getting the number 3 engine back online.

Fury's voice crackled over the comm, "It's Barton! He took out our systems. He's headed for the detention level. Does anybody copy?"

Another breath to steady my voice; "This is Agent Romanov, I copy."

**Hawkeye**

Time slowed in that now-familiar way as Loki burned me with his gaze, searing into my brain. I watched my own fingers deftly entering the override command sequence. Why the hell hadn't they changed it?

The door to the Hulk-buster cell hissed open and Loki emerged. His boots clicked on the metal grating, his cape swishing behind him. The metal tube over which the cell was suspended oddly distorted the sounds of the battle raging all over the ship. An animalistic roar echoed followed by the sound of rending metal.

"The Quinjet is waiting, sir." I stood at soldierly attention.

He rested a hand on my shoulder and then stroked down my chest and abs, leaving his fingertips there. "You may be the best soldier I've ever had." I detested the affection in his voice. "Certainly the most capable human. So, now, I shall grant you another boon."

—_the fuck? Here? Now?_

His saccharine laugh mocked me. "No, no. I have something you will enjoy much much more." He pressed deeper into my mind, filling it with images: Natasha, bruised, broken and, most frightening, pleading. Her eyes squeezed shut, gasping for breath, my name spilling from her bleeding lips. As Loki intended, it was a terrible parody of her in climax. The final image of my knife in her heart and my cock inside her nearly made me throw up.

As my mind spun with vertigo, I felt my body nod curtly before turning back to the corridor to find Natasha.

_God, I hope she kills me._

**Black Widow**

I concealed myself in a dark recess among the pipes and catwalks leading from the detention level. In a very short time, Clint strode past me. I sprung out behind him, the tasers built into my gloves set as high as I dared. The weapon carried a charge strong enough to kill if I chose.

Clint wheeled around, nocking an arrow with his blinding speed. I stood so close, the arrow whizzed past my ear. I lunged towards him, tasers crackling with electricity. He rotated his bow striking it across my wrists; destroying the taser contacts as they discharged harmlessly against the compound material of the bow. I, however, took some of the charge. Disarmed and momentarily stunned, I couldn't affect a proper defense when Clint swung his bow like a staff. It struck me across my chest and I stumbled.

Shocked by the speed at which he turned the tide, and still stunned by the taser, I saw Clint's eyes_— _empty. The irises were a luminous, unearthly blue; ringed an angry red; sunken and hollow. I didn't hesitate; staying in close quarters was the only way to avoid his deadly marksmanship. I sprung forward, my hands making brief contact with the deck as I aimed a heel kick at his face and another to his solar plexus. He blocked both, as I knew he would, but it disrupted his attack and knocked the bow from his grip. I could almost always defeat him in hand-to-hand combat, but I was at a distinct disadvantage; Clint fought like he wanted me dead_—_my only goal was to disable him long enough take him into custody. With all the resources at SHIELD's command, they could get him back. They had to.

For several long moments, we fought, advancing and retreating on the narrow metal corridor, always staying near the recess where I had hidden. Most blows were adeptly blocked. He managed to hook his toes under his bow and kick it back up into his hand. Instantly, he pressed the impossibly taut string against my throat. I executed an acrobatic swing around one of the many vertical support poles, planting my boots in the center of his chest, snatching his bow from his hand and tossing it away.

He drew one of his many knives, lashing it at my throat. I dodged and my back arched dangerously back over the railing. I caught his wrist and we grappled for the knife. He pressed me against the rail, pinning my hips with his full weight. I wrestled the hand with the knife against the vertical support. He deftly transferred it to his left, bringing the blade close to my face. I bit him as hard as I could. The knife clattered off the catwalk into the recesses of the ship. Taking advantage of the instant of distraction, I jerked my knee into his stomach and shoved him against the opposite railing.

He remained doubled over only as long as it took me to resume a stable stance. He reared up and struck me with a wild haymaker, his possessed eyes flashing. I fell back into the small recess, and in seconds, he crushed me into it, his frame filling the entire opening.

He thrust his thigh between my legs and then slapped me. The small space weakened the blow, but it drew blood from my split lip. He lowered his mouth to mine, but then seemed to recollect my teeth on his arm. He drew another slim knife and held it to my throat, his threat implicit. He then enveloped my mouth with his, forcing his tongue inside and swiping at my injured lip. He didn't even taste like Clint_—_he tasted like ice and dust and emptiness.

Loki's voice resonated in my ear, "This is my accord, you conniving quim!" his voice dripped with venom. "Let this be the final entry in your ledger!" With a shock of pain, the cold sensation of this presence vanished, leaving me alone with this man who was not Clint.

My arms were pinned between us and I couldn't achieve the leverage to push him away. I had used the close quarters of the catwalk to my advantage, but here, with no room to move at all, strength clearly beat finesse. "Once I get my hands on you..." I bit out each word, struggling ineffectively against him. I didn't know if my half-finished vow was directed at Loki or the very corporeal man whose hands roamed all over me. I refused to think of this as Clint. I squeezed my eyes shut and when I reopened them, I focused his empty irises.

His blade still against my throat, breath hot against my face, he whispered the first words he'd said to me, "Do you remember," he spoke in Clint's soft bedroom voice, "that night in the gym?" He jerked his thigh painfully against me. "You were such a hot little slut that night. You wanted it so bad. Tell me how much you want it now." As he spoke, his crass speech lacked Loki's diction, but possessed its cadences and slippery smoothness.

"Fuck you," I snarled as if I could address Loki through Clint.

He struck me again. He smiled a smile I've never seen on Clint's features. "First, we are getting off this ship. And then, oh, yes. I want you to beg me. Like you did that night. Maybe I'll keep you all to myself, maybe not." I swallowed thickly at the thought of being passed around and tormented, or, worse, given to Loki. I directed my eyes to the ceiling, allowing a tear to escape my eye. He looked pleased and slid his finger down the tear track. "Did you know, that that was a fantasy of mine? I like to watch. I think I'm going to watch them fuck you until you beg. Some of them probably won't be as gentle as me." He punctuated this with another vicious press of his thigh.

He increased the pressure of the knife at my neck and then sheathed it. I struggled against him, my hands still confined. He drew the zipper of my jumpsuit to my navel. He moved away enough to make a show of looking me up and down possessively.

I tried to force him away, but he landed a hard, precise blow to my exposed stomach. I jerked forward, the tight space preventing any recoil. I struggled to breathe, even more helpless and terrified than before. He held me against his chest in the travesty of an embrace. I felt hollowed out, as empty as his eyes.

"Mmm, I love having you like this..." he said as I gulped for air against his shoulder. "Mine to do with as I please." His lips and teeth were suddenly and painfully against my neck as cruel fingers sought my breast, pinching the nipple. I gasped involuntarily, hating his huff of satisfaction. His burgeoning erection pressed against me, another weapon, another threat.

A far-off explosion rocked the Helicarrier, causing it to judder and pitch. "Time to go," he said. He gripped my neck with one hand and began to squeeze. I knew that once I became unconscious, I'd be dragged away to wake up fully bound and completely subject to any cruel whim until Clint and I were both dead.

"Just like the red room, I promise," he hissed. The pressure he exerted choked off a very real sob. Memories of the utter desperation and pain of that horrible place terrified me in ways that mere torture did not. The red room trained me in the art of torture; using it and resisting it. Reliving the abuse I suffered... this would be the fulfillment of Loki's cruel promise. I had told no one in the world about what happened to me there. No one but Clint.

And my Clint was gone. Gone. Gone.

Only Loki remained.

And I was going to kill him before I let him lay another finger on me.

He shifted position as he squeezed, giving me just a bit more room. Using his leg for leverage, I leapt up and ground my knee into his groin. He stumbled back. I reached for an overhead pipe and cleared the recess.

I swung a high roundhouse kick that bounced his head off the railing. The impact of his skull reverberated through the metal bars as he collapsed. He groaned and struggled to stand, but still disoriented, he could only manage to climb up one rung on the rail before moaning and again losing his balance.

"Tasha?" he whispered thickly. He looked up at me with watering eyes; clear, blue-green and entirely his own.

Unhesitatingly, I punched him in the head and he collapsed unconscious on the gangway.


	6. Chapter 6

Title: Bound

Author: DJ Liopleurodon

Warnings: Mature themes, graphic language, mind control and non-consensual and explicit sex

Characters / Pairings: Clint/Loki & Clint/Natasha

Rating: M

Genre / Category: Angst/Romance

Word Count: 1448

Chapter: 6

Disclaimer: I think its stupid that we have to say it at this point, but I claim no-ownership-of-these-characters-Hail-Marvel."

Summary: Under his control, Clint is compelled to serve Loki. He resists in vain, clinging to memories of his Natasha. But when Loki develops a special hatred for Natasha, will she be able to affect Clint's "cognitive recalibration" before Loki destroys them both . My take on what you didn't see in the movie.

Disclaimer: Like chapter 4, I used some of the dialog from the actual scene in the movie. Unlike chapter 4, I added and reorganized much of it.

Special thanks to my awesome betas leapylion3 & MovieExpert1978 and to Ringo1, Amber-Jade James and all my reviewers for the incredible and encouraging reviews!

======================oO Black Widow Oo======================

Clint lay restrained and unconscious in one of the medical bays usually used to hold injured hostiles. Only a junior medic came to check on him; the others were too busy or unwilling to face the man who almost killed us all. One medic even said she couldn't help because she had four arrows to remove from four different agents, pointedly looking at Clint.

I wanted to tell the medic that anyone alive to bitch about having one of Clint Barton's arrows in her shoulder should thank him profusely. If Hawkeye shot you, and you could complain, he intended for you to live.

The medic checked his vitals and pupils. I peered over her to see the absence of the unearthly glow. His eyes were their normal color. She said that he would wake up with a headache, injected him with SHIELD's custom drug cocktail designed to counteract the effect of a concussion, and put a little plastic cup with two Advil on the side table. She left us alone without a backward glance, a preview of the treatment Clint could expect if we survived this day.

I busied myself dabbing his brow, pouring him a glass of water and composing myself in the bay's small bathroom. I wiped away the makeup trail left by my crocodile tear and dodged the rest of my eyeliner into place. I wished I could conceal my swollen lip and the ugly mark on my neck he'd left. I tossed my hair to cover it. I didn't know how much he would remember or how aware he'd been of the events; he would discover it all eventually, he didn't need to know it all now.

He startled me as he began to wake. He groaned and pulled against the heavy restraints at his wrists. "Clint," I said authoritatively, "Clint, you are going to be alright."

"You know that?" he croaked. "Is that what you know?"

"Yes," I said confidently. "Whatever he did to you, it's over now." I watched as realization and recollection dawned on him. He remembered everything.

"Natasha, Oh, god, Natasha, I almost...I'm so sorry," his voice was quiet and remorseful. He reached for me, his fingertips grazing my wrist. The leather restraints prevented him from reaching out more. I forced myself not to pull away from him. He sensed my stiffness and let his hand relax back to his side. "I'm sorry," he said again and I realized he was apologizing for touching me just then.

I didn't want the only man I'd ever truly trusted to touch me. I felt a wave of hot anger. Then I remembered Loki's cruel voice; his threats, the everywhere and nowhere sound of it, and ice shot through me.

I watched him, the pain in his voice rendering me mute.

"I am so sorry. I did everything I could but..." He huffed a defeated sigh and regarded me for for several long moments. "Say something," he said. "Or, hell, do something. Kick my ass. Punch me in the face."

"Already did that," I lightly prodded the red patch on his cheek that would darken to a bruise soon. He winced.

"That how you got him out?" He shook his head to clear it, "Is that why I'm back?"

"That's what the medic thinks - cognitive recalibration. I hit you really hard in the head." I shrugged. I stroked the side of Clint's face, he closed his eyes and turned toward my touch. I could tell the room was still spinning for him. I rested my forehead against his,. While I didn't want him to touch me, I did feel comfort from his skin against mine.

I kissed him experimentally. There was no hint of the monstrous man Loki had created. He felt warm and safe and as the kissed deepened, he tasted like Clint; like citrus and early mornings in the forest.

I slid the shade over the window and locked the door. I straddled his lap and resumed kissing him. He seemed to understand my need to leave his hands bound for now. He returned my kiss. I knew this was a brief moment; a stolen moment. I'd take whatever I could get. I slid down to rest against his shoulder and relaxed into him. "I thought I lost you," I said.

"I thought I lost me," he said wearily. "You found me." Some of the tension left the set of his shoulders.

"I wanted to find you sooner. When we took Loki in Germany, I was sure you'd be there. All of SHIELD focused on Loki. I only wanted to find you."

"I was using your "retinal-extraction" assault..." I ran my hand through my hair. His sharp intake of breath at the sight of the purple mark on my neck caused me involuntarily check to see if any other bruises were visible.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again. "I couldn't stop him. I tried," he began breathlessly but his voice grew stronger as he spoke. I felt the tension return to his muscles. I climbed reluctantly from him. "I fucking had to watch myself and there wasn't a goddamn thing I could do about it. Have you ever been a prisoner of your own mind? Bound inside yourself and feeling yourself begin to unravel. You know what's that like."

I stated simply, "You know that I do." There was no reason to drag the horrors of the Red Room into this. His rising anger would be fueled by memories of what I had told him of my training as a young girl in Russia.

"There was not a goddamn thing I could do," he said again biting out each syllable. "I had to fucking watch...how many agents did I -"

I cut him off, "Don't. Don't do that to yourself, Clint." He set his jaw, determined to shoulder as much guilt as he could. I loosened the buckles on his restraints. He pulled his hands free and flexed them, rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck in that familiar way that he knew bothered me.

"I tried to rape you," he said, his voice almost inaudible, saying the word that hung so weighty between us.

"No, you didn't. Loki did," I said. "He _tried_, but he didn't," I made my voice calm and level.

"I feel like I can't flush him out," he blinked rapidly. "I can feel that he's gone, but my brain feels...Fuck! He put things, images in my head. I saw you die. Keep seeing it. Every time I close my eyes."

"This is Loki," My brow creasing at the sheer strangeness of everything that had happened. "This is monsters and magic and nothing we were ever trained for."

"Loki. He get away?" Clint sat up stiffly and took the water and pills from the tables.

I walked to the window, raised the shade and looked into the deserted corridor, turning my back to him for the first time. Despite my training and the caution that had kept me alive all this time,, but I could feel myself trusting him as a partner again. "Yeah." i said neutrally, "Don't suppose you know where."

He shook his head. "Didn't need to know. Didn't ask." He swallowed the pills and drained the water cup. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, he said, "Gonna make his play soon though. Today."

"We gotta stop him." There was no question in my mind. We, SHIELD, the Avengers, anyone and everyone, had to defeat Loki now or there would be no going back.

"Well, if I put an arrow through Loki's eye socket, I'd sleep better, I suppose," he shrugged resignedly. I realized something I never thought I'd see - Clint Barton was afraid. I realized something else, he - we - should be.

I wondered what dreams would haunt him; Clint had always been an exceptionally heavy sleeper for someone in our line of work. I never woke him with my frequent tossing and turnings on the rare night we slept in bed together. I had some idea of the nightmares I could expect to be added to my stock. I brushed my fingers across his temple and sat beside him. Smiling warmly, I said, "Now you sound like you."

He turned to me. "But you don't," he said abruptly. "You're a spy, not a soldier. Now you want to wade into a war? Is this what I did to you, pushed you to this?"

"No. You didn't... He didn't… He just…" For the first time today, I felt genuine tears prick my eyes. I looked away and down to regain control.

"Natasha," he said, quietly and with affectionate concern.

"I've been compromised."


	7. Chapter 7

Title: Bound

Author: DJ Liopleurodon

Warnings: Mature themes, graphic language, mind control and non-consensual and explicit sex

Characters / Pairings: Clint/Loki & Clint/Natasha

Rating: M

Genre / Category: Angst/Romance

Word Count: 1682

Chapter: 7

Disclaimer: I think its stupid that we have to say it at this point, but I claim no-ownership-of-these-characters-Hail-Marvel."

Summary: Under his control, Clint is compelled to serve Loki. He resists in vain, clinging to memories of his Natasha. But when Loki develops a special hatred for Natasha, will she be able to affect Clint's "cognitive recalibration" before Loki destroys them both . My take on what you didn't see in the movie.

Special thanks to my awesome beta LeapyLion3 and Ringo1 and thanks for all the great reviews!

=======================oO Hawkeye Oo=======================

It was the most comfortable bed I'd slept in in years; plush pillows and crisp white sheets. Each undamaged Stark Tower executive suite now housed an Avenger. It seemed that Natasha and I had been subsumed into the "team." I was pleased at the prospect of fighting alongside these extraordinary people - and daunted. As the only true baseline human (even Natasha had some Meta enhancement - she hadn't aged a day in the thirteen years I'd known her), I had my doubts that I'd really be accepted on the team. However, I couldn't imagine returning to SHIELD as Agent Barton who-nearly-destroyed-the-whole-organization, so I'd try life as Hawkeye the Avenger.

I reminded myself that it was I who had knocked Loki from the air. Finding him crawling l out of the crater in the floor like a bug, bruised and bloody, gave me a deep satisfaction. It was all I could do to stay my hand from loosing that arrow right in his face.

I was alone in this lavish room, completely exhausted, yet totally unable to sleep. I think the only respite I got was the time I spent unconscious in the medical bay, where Natasha had strapped me to the bed. Natasha... there had been a time when I couldn't imagine anything I'd have liked more than to have her strap me to the bed.

I needed another shower.

I slid my gun from under the pillow, and headed into the bathroom.

Wincing, I let the shower hit the cuts where the shards had dug into my arms and scalp when I crashed through the glass. I wasn't sure I could sleep here at all, under the same roof as Loki. Tonight, he remained imprisoned in the tower. Twenty-five SHIELD agents guarded the pressurized chamber where we had stashed Loki. Stark used the chamber to ionize, galvanize, annealize - some shit like that- his armor. The chamber had several feet of concrete on all sides and at the press of a button could heat up to a couple of thousand Kelvin if Loki tried to escape.

God, I hope the bastard tried to escape.

I let the water run hot and then cold and hot again. Fuck, I was so tired.

I replaced the Glock and collapsed back into the bed.

"You sleep with you gun under your pillow now, too?" Natasha's quiet voice cut thought the semi-darkness. I sat up quickly, trying to look alert; to not to seem like she'd surprised the hell out of me. She sat in the chair in the corner. I wasn't surprised she had been able to break the doors security codes. For all I knew, Stark gave them to her.

The first few times we'd shared a bed, I had startled her and found myself staring down the barrel of her gun. I found it ridiculously hot, but I learned it was borne of a place of fear and didn't mention it.

"And you're wearing your gun under your shirt, and nothing else," I countered. She wore nothing but a white 'Stark Industries' t-shirt, and her holster slung low on her hips. "You'll give someone a heart attack when you draw it."

Her gun was in her hand, the shirt swinging back into place in seconds.

"I think I need to see that again," I quipped.

She slowly holstered the gun, revealing the line of her leg and a path of creamy skin. She slid in beside me and lay on her side, regarding me in the dark. The moonlight and ambient light from the parts of the city that still had electricity illuminated her porcelain skin. I pulled her to me, wanting to envelop her in my arms. She contoured her body against mine. I ran my hand along the line of her holster, finding the buckle at the apex of her hip. I set about loosening it, tentatively at first. When she didn't object, I removed the belt from around her slim waist and put it and the gun on the floor. She took my weapon and set it on the bedside table.

She pushed me back on the pillows and straddled my waist, recalling the few comfortable minutes in the medical bay. She drew her shirt slowly over her head before it joined the holster on the floor. I explored her body with my hands, starting at her thighs and slowly sliding up her sides, over her abs and to her full breasts. She braced her hands on my shoulders, her hair spilling forward.

I cupped her breasts, taking one in my mouth. She moaned, but pushed me away, saying "Let me take care of you," as she slipped down under the covers, between my legs and took me into her mouth.

Groaning in anticipation, I rested on the pillows and lost myself to the sensations. She purred in the back of her throat and shudder ran through me. Our eyes met as I glanced down at her. She smiled and I bit my lip to draw out the experience as long as my exhausted body would let me.

I cried out when I finally came, twisting the sheets in my fists. All the tension left my muscles for the first time in weeks, perspiration cooling my skin.

The cool, lithe body that slithered up my stomach and chest sent chills through me even before the dark head emerged under the sheet. As Loki stared into my eyes, I felt myself freeze, every fiber of me becoming paralyzed. He became crushingly heavy on my chest. I could barely breathe, gasping with rising panic.

"What do you want," I demanded, proud of how level my voice sounded, despite the fear gnawing in my gut, my rage and my utter confusion.

"I think the better question is, will she still want you? After everything you've done? I've shown her everything." He smirked, his eyes taunting, teasing, "I know all your darkest fantasies in ways she never will, ways she never could," he said conspiratorially. He leaned close to my ear and began to recite my darkest and most secret desires. Rage expanded in my chest hearing my private fantasies sullied as they poured from his lips.

"What. Do. You. _Want?_" I repeated through gritted teeth.

His lips brushed my ear as whispered one word: "you." With no preamble, he thrust painfully into me.

I jolted awake, cold sweat prickling my scalp.

Natasha lay beside me, warm and sleeping. I hope I wasn't dreaming this time. I pressed close to her. Always a light sleeper, she awoke at the contact.

"Well, that was a first for me," she said dryly, stretching before resuming her position.

"What was?" I asked.

"You fell asleep with your tongue in my mouth," she didn't sound insulted; she sounded almost amused but with an undercurrent of concern.

"Sorry," I said sheepishly. I yawned, shaking off the skin-crawling dream, trying to convince myself that it WAS a dream and not something more malevolent.

"When is the last time you slept?" she asked, her concern gaining the upper hand.

"Excluding the time in the medical bay?"

"You were unconscious." She rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, so excluding that... What day is it?"

She checked the bedside clock. "It's Friday, oh-three-hundred Friday."

I stretched and cracked my neck, "Oh-six-thirty Sunday, I think. When was I... When did the Dark Energy facility implode."

"Around twenty three hundred Sunday."

"Yeah, sounds about right."

"Jesus, Clint," her eyes widening with surprise.

I shrugged. "Might have gotten an hour or so on the flight to Stuttgart. All pretty fuzzy. I don't remember much," I lied.

"Is that true?" she asked.

"What?"

"Is that true?" she repeated. "That you don't remember much."

"No," I sighed.

"I... I dreamed about it. I think Loki... I saw everything, felt everything. God, Clint, I'm so sorry. I know what he made you do,"

"That Loki's gift to you? A front row seat to me sucking him off?"

Genuine confusion creased her brow, "What?"

_Oh, fuck me!_

I sat up and huffed another sigh. "Goddammit. Well, so, you know now."

"I... I just meant the bunker, I mean," she stammered, "having to collaborate with all of scum you gathered for Loki and Stuttgart and the Helicarrier. I didn't know how involved you were. I mean, the strategy and execution seemed like you, but... Oh, god I didn't know. I'm sorry." She sat up and sat close to me. She knew I didn't want her pity; I just needed her proximity.

"It's nothing compared to what you went through as a teenager," I said defeatedly. "Hell, I don't think it's worse than what I did to you."

She put her hand on my arm. "It's not a zero-sum game, Clint," she said gently. "We both have always been survivors, it's what we do, we _survive_. We'll get through this like we've gotten through everything else." She didn't finish it with the word "together," but it was there all the same. She held my hand and we lay back against the pillows.

"Natasha..." I couldn't think of anything else to say. I kissed her instead. It was, by our standards, fairly chaste; no tongue, just comfort and familiarity. I stroked her hair. She put her head on my shoulder and wrapped a lean leg around my waist.

"You need to sleep," she said authoritatively. "Fury told us to take some time and to lay low for a while. We should go home to Washington to pack and go away. It's probably a good idea to get out of the country for a while."

"No, I can't sleep with him here. It's like Nightmare on fucking Elm Street. When are they leaving? Maybe I'll sleep then."

"Thor apparently has a girlfriend in Tromsø, Norway; some astrophysicist prodigy of Selvig's. He flew to see her. He's taking Loki back in the morning."

"Council's gonna love that," I observed.

She shrugged. "That's Fury's problem."

"Where do we go?"

"Well, there's always Budapest."


	8. Chapter 8 Hawkeye's Epilogue

Title: Bound

Author: DJ Liopleurodon

Warnings: Mature themes, graphic language, mind control and non-consensual and explicit sex

Characters / Pairings: Clint/Loki & Clint/Natasha

Rating: M

Genre / Category: Angst/Romance

Word Count: 504

Disclaimer: I think its stupid that we have to say it at this point, but I claim no-ownership-of-these-characters-Hail-Marvel."

Summary: Under his control, Clint is compelled to serve Loki. He resists in vain, clinging to memories of his Natasha. But when Loki develops a special hatred for Natasha, will she be able to affect Clint's "cognitive recalibration" before Loki destroys them both . My take on what you didn't see in the movie.

Special thanks to my awesome beta leapylion3

==================oO Epilogue: HawkeyeOo==================

The Asgardian dagger, which I had picked up in the ruins of Stark Tower, remained ice-cold in my pocket, despite the fact that I had clutched it most of the morning. Natasha knew about the dagger; she and I theorized that Loki, seemingly invulnerable to all but the strongest of Earth attacks, might be mortally harmed by a weapon from his own dimension. Loki had stabbed Thor with it and Thor still favored his side while all his other injuries had already healed.

I regretted not shooting Loki in the fucking face before the others arrived. However, Natasha reminded me later that it was the god Baldur who died from an arrow to the eye in the Norse legend. I don't know what would have happened - I don't see how you recover from that, but I now had this perfect opportunity to test his supposed immortality.

Loki's cuts and bruises had mended, but the beating was written all over his face. His bowed head seemed intended to hide the odd, ornate gag. As he shuffled, defeated, he averted his eyes from the Tesseract or the other Avengers. He now stood so near. With the others focused on Thor and Selvig, I could draw the knife and strike before anyone could stop me.

I knew there was a very real possibility that Thor would kill me seconds later; it was a risk I was willing to take.

I regarded Loki without fear, rage and hate blazing. I was going to reclaim myself from this monster. I would avenge each friend and stranger who died with my arrow in their chest. I would make him pay for what he did to Tasha; for the apprehension in her eyes the first time I touched her after she saved me. I vowed to kill him before I knew how - I had the knife, he was dead where he stood.

Coiled to lunge, I remained completely still. Surrounded by battle veterans, I didn't want to betray my intentions. But Loki knew. He looked up to meet my gaze behind my sunglasses. His eyes burned with malice. I didn't know if he put the words in my head, but in my mind echoed his phrases. '_Kneel before me.' 'Do you enjoy this...?' 'Do what she does.' 'Something you will enjoy much, much more.' _ It was now or never, while attentions focused elsewhere.

Natasha leaned in front of me, breaking my intense glare. "If you kill him, it's going to be _hours_ of paperwork. I know a much better way to spend that time. Think that med-bay is still available?" Her seductive tone and wry arched eye brow; I never could hide anything from her. Suddenly I realized that Loki was daring me to slash his throat. Either what awaited him in Asgard was too horrible for him to face or he knew his death would not be permanent, and that mine would be.

I smirked at him over Tasha's shoulder. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction.


	9. Chapter 9 Black Widow's Epilogue

Title: Bound

Author: DJ Liopleurodon

Warnings: Mature themes, graphic language, mind control and non-consensual and explicit sex

Characters / Pairings: Clint/Loki & Clint/Natasha

Rating: M

Genre / Category: Angst/Romance

Word Count: 728

Chapter:

Disclaimer: I think its stupid that we have to say it at this point, but I claim no-ownership-of-these-characters-Hail-Marvel."

Summary: Under his control, Clint is compelled to serve Loki. He resists in vain, clinging to memories of his Natasha. But when Loki develops a special hatred for Natasha, will she be able to affect Clint's "cognitive recalibration" before Loki destroys them both . My take on what you didn't see in the movie.

Special thanks to my awesome betas LeapyLion3 and Roar-ra - your help on these last few chapters has been invaluable. Also thanks to my betas C0mdLicAt3p & MovieExpert1978. Ringo1 - you rock as always. Thanks to all my reviewers!

================oO Black Widow Oo================

I run.

I run until my lungs and legs ache.

The man chasing me gains steadily as I flag from the last sprinting burst of speed. One more block, and three flights of stairs, and I'll make it. He has an advantage on the stairs - longer legs - so I need to keep as much distance between us here on the level ground. I hit the lobby and dart to the staircase taking the steps two at a time.

By the time Clint catches up with me at our hotel hallway, he is too out of breath to respond to my gloating. He catches me in his arms and I press him against the door, kissing him hungrily as he fumbles with the key. I guide the key into the lock and the door swings open. We stumble inside, entirely exhilarated.

Drunk with endorphins from our early morning run along the Danube, we giggle like teenagers as we kick off our mud splashed running shoes and socks. In a single swift movement, he pulls my shirt over my head and recaptures my lips. I struggle to unzip and peel off his hooded sweatshirt and tee shirt without breaking the kiss. His shirts quickly join mine on the floor.

Walking backward, he lets me direct us into the bathroom and we shed the rest of our clothes. Disengaging, I turn on faucet. The small room quickly fills with steam, fogging every surface. I free my hair, shaking it loose around my shoulders and step under the spray.

The contrast of the cold tile and the hot water and Clint's warm skin sends little sparks of pleasure along my spine. Still panting from the exercise, I continue kissing him breathless as the water spills down our bodies; slippery skin, streaming hair and tangled limbs and tongues.

He runs his calloused hands along the insides of my wrists and entwines with mine. Seeing our fingers interlaced on the tile reminds me of the first time we were in Hungary. Our first mission together nearly became our last; pinned down and hopelessly outnumbered, we protected a group of trafficked women in a small warehouse. My new mentor, the man who had chosen to spare my life, nodded gravely and squeezed my hand. We might die, but we were in this together and intended to go down fighting. Up until last week, it had been are most dire mission.

His lips moves to my ear, alternately kissing and biting, recalling me to the present. "My avenging angel," he whispers, water cascading down his face.

Stepping out of the small shower, he lifts me up on the marble counter. I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him flush against me, trapping his erection between our bodies, letting him feel how wet I am. He groans as his teeth find my collarbone. He slides lower, his mouth working towards my left breast and encircling my nipple as he braces his hands on my hips. His lips work down my belly to my inner thigh, his beard stubble rasping against my recently waxed skin.

I gasp his name when his tongue finally touches my clit and begins to explore me. Gripping his shoulders, I dig in my nails and the twine my fingers in his short hair. My first orgasm hits quickly, shuddering through me.

After two more climaxes, I hang limply against him and let him carry me to the bed. Through half-closed eyes, I watch him deftly roll on a condom. He lowers himself on to me and I guide him inside. He moves within me, in slow, sure strokes. I hold him tightly with my thighs and flip positions so I now straddle him. "God, I love watching you like this," he says, his voice low and almost worshipful. He adds in flawless Russian, "Natalia, you are so beautiful," my proper name and native language sound natural and sweet as they roll off his tongue

Finally, exhausted, I collapse onto him, my head on his shoulder.

I hope you enjoyed this story. I end it here hoping to write a sequel. Reviews are VERY encouraging.


	10. Sequel Preview: Cold Fusion

_I just wanted to let my followers (hi guys!) know that I'm working on a sequel to this story. It's called "_Cold Fusion_" and I should have the first chapter or two up within the week. Thank you for following my work!_

_-Lio_

_Here's a short preview:_

**Black Widow**

If Clint Barton looks at me like I'm made of glass one more time, I'm going to kick his ass.

I could do it too.

We are sitting in a cafe on a side street in Paris. I catch him looking at me over his demitasse when I glance up from _Le Figaro_. Even through his dark sunglasses, I can feel "that" look in his eyes. At the mixture of self-reproach, affection and pity, anger flushes hot across my cheeks and my heart clenches a little. I want to slap him.

I'm torn between reminding him that even trying his damnedest, I still beat him and pointing out how crucial he was in the battle of New York. I'm not sure what, if anything, I could say to reach him. There seems a gulf impassible between us as he wrestles with what Loki did to him. Clint always knows what to say to me to calm me and bring me back from the brink—often it's nothing—and I used to be able to do the same for him. But what do you say to a man who has been used as he was? To assuage the guilt he feels even though we both know how little control he had?


End file.
